


Nox

by SheegothBait



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheegothBait/pseuds/SheegothBait
Summary: Following his deal with the Devil herself, Angor flees as far as he can. But, although he tries to hide from his fate, he can't escape the Inferna Copula's bond, and he must come to terms that he has become the very monster he sought out to destroy.





	1. Broken Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> SheegothBait here.
> 
> Yes, you may have seen this very fic by the very same author on fan fiction.net. I assure you this is not plagiarism, but just a re-publication of my work from the aforementioned site. I wanted this fic to be available to as wide an audience as possible. 
> 
> I LOVE the conflicted villain that is Angor Rot. He's everything I enjoy in a character; cunning, careful, duplicitous, and incredibly powerful. Thank you a million to the millionth power to all the cast and crew of Trollhunters that helped bring this character to life. 
> 
> There are a few things I assume going into this fic, and reading this may help clarify my reasons for taking certain directions in this fic. 
> 
> 1:Angor Rot did not return to his village after the Faustian bargain.  
> Reason: He was so horrified by his meeting and deal with Argante that he could not bear to return to his people, and by the time he managed to pull himself together, he realized it was much too late for him to return.
> 
> 2: Angor needs guidance in how to focus his magic.  
> Reason: As seen in the show, most magical objects require some degree of training to use properly, like the Amulet or the Skathe-Hrun. His magic is no exception. 
> 
> 3:Lady Pale's control of the Inferna Copula stretches much farther than we see on the show.  
> Reason: Argante is a LOT more powerful than a changeling, and as she is the one who created the ring, she knows exactly how it works and can stretch its abilities much farther.

_KILL THE TROLLHUNTER. THE POWER OF THE RING COMPELS YOU. KILL THE TROLLHUNTER.THE POWER OF THE RING COMPELS YOU. KILL THE-_

Angor woke with a gasp, clutching at his chest, the Pale Lady’s words still echoing in his head. His chest seared with cold so fierce and deep that it burned like acid or fire. Two months, maybe more, had passed since the Faustian bargain, but when the dreams came upon, the pain of having his soul forcibly torn from his body returned. Every time he tried to rest, it was the same; nightmares of Baba Yaga calling out to him in that earth-shattering voice, and then pain so awful it caused him to wake, tearing at his very living stone.

 

            He slipped from his bed and broke the skin of ice capping the water basin. The cold water numbed his face, but it woke him from the remnants of the dreams. He straightened in the chill air and glanced to the windows. A bitter wind rustled the tattered curtains, but he heard nothing else creeping beyond his hut. He retrieved his weathered, trusty dagger and tucked it into his belt, and crossed to the table, where an open book rested. He glanced down at it, murmuring the words inked carefully onto the crackling pages once more, though the incantation had already burnt itself into his brain long ago. If he could only get the spell to work…

 

            His magic had not resurfaced since the deal, and though he’d been studying every spell-book he could get his hands on, the thread of arcane power still remained elusive. Frustration flared, burning as sharply as poison in a wound, and for a fraction of a moment he considered dashing the book from the table. He let out a slow breath and turned to the coals smoldering on the hearth. At first, he hadn’t been sure, being the soul-less, half-dead _abomination_ he now was, that he could get cold, but fleeing north to escape the Gumm-Gumm hordes had proven, without a doubt, that he was still susceptible to the flaws of mortal stone.

 

            _What was the point in leaving my mortality intact if_ she _wanted someone to kill the Trollhunters,_ he thought, sourly tossing kindling onto the dull red embers. He blew on the coals gently, making them flare orange. _They’re called_ Trollhunters _for a reason_. A small tongue of flame lapped at the fuel, then flickered out again. _I may be skilled at fighting, but I’m no Gumm-Gumm. What chance do I have against the Trollhunters if this…magic…does not work?_ He blew on the fire again, which tentatively, then with more vigor, crackled to life. He shuddered as the wind bit his fingers, then located his fur cloak and swung it around his shoulders. The pelt was from a huge, hairy mammal much larger than he, with fur as white as snow and claws long and sharp enough to tear living stone asunder. He’d managed to kill the beast, but not without acquiring some injuries of his own; the creature had taken a sizeable chunk out of his shoulder. The injury would likely take years to heal and scar terribly.

 

            He located the packet of fish he’d smoked several nights ago and ate, sitting in front of the gently flickering fire, whose heat did little to dispel his black mood. _What do I do now?_ After his initial flight from the sorceress’s dreaded cave, he’d fled north, not returning to his village. He’d run in terror of Argante at first, then from the Gumm-Gumm hordes as they spread across the land, killing indiscriminately. At this point, he would likely be thought of by “his people” as either dead or a traitor. There was no point going back.

 

            _Well, then what,_ he asked himself, spreading his frozen hands in front of the flames. Staying here was not an option; food here was scarce, and the cold only worsened as the days shortened. This harsh land could not sustain the Gumm-Gumm hordes, which made it momentarily safe, but neither could it sustain him for long. He gazed into the flames blankly. _Where do I go? What should I do?_ The fire snapped and crackled and spat. He straightened suddenly. Maybe he was losing his mind, but the noises almost strung together…coherently.

 

            He leaned closer, ignoring the scorching heat. “Lady Pale?” He half-whispered into the flames.

 

            _You shirk your duties, hunter,_ the fire seemed to snap at him. _You are of old stone, yet you hide like new-stone, afraid of the shadows._

He looked down at the floor, his hands curling into fists, his ire rising like the lunar tide, slow but unstoppable. It wasn’t enough, apparently, that he was stewing in his own guilt; even his hallucinations had to drive home his cowardice. “This magic does not obey me. It has failed to protect my people, and now it is failing me. The pact I made with you is _worthless_ to me,” he spat.

 

            He half-expected to get no response at all, but one came anyway.

 

            _Your magic is not useless,_ the flames crackled. _It is dormant. You are not fulfilling your end of the pact, so it will remain dormant until you do._

            He scoffed. “Hunt the Trollhunters? That is madness. I am no warrior.”

           

            _No,_ the fire-voice argued, _you are much more than that._

           

            He laughed bitterly. “How? Why didn’t you choose another?”

           

            The fire’s light softened, its crackle lessening to soft hisses and pops. _These…Gumm-Gumms… are but brutes with little skill. They smash their way through obstacles with reckless abandon; they do not plan or calculate their actions. They do not study a foe as you, my hunter, do._ The fire flared golden _. You fought a beast many times your size and succeeded in killing it. You have the skill and cunning necessary to track and analyze the Trollhunters, a skill the brutes do not possess. Apply the same skills in studying your enemies, and you will succeed._ A wave of warmth washed out from the fire, chasing away the chill. _You have the knowledge necessary to tap your sorcery. Use it; it will become your greatest weapon._

 

            He shook his head. “This is folly. Every troll knows that Merlin’s amulet does not simply choose _any_ troll, and it does not make mistakes.”

 

            The fire flared blazing hot; he yelled and scrambled back. _Do not forget your duty to me, hunter. Either you will hunt the Trollhunters, or you will die here and I will find another._

 

            With that, the fire went out, as though he’d thrown a bucket of water onto the flames. He looked at his hands; they’d been blackened in the sudden heat wave, but already the pain was fading, the deadly chill creeping in to numb the burns. He reached forward, wondering if he could still get the fire going, but the stones lining the ash pile felt totally cold to the touch, the ash itself as dead-white as his skin.

 

            He clenched his fists and got to his feet. _Accursed sorcery._ More and more he was wishing he had never heard about the legends of The Lady Pale. But he was bound to her now, for however long it took him to satisfy her enough to release him. And he had little doubt now that the dreams would just keep coming until he heeded them or died out here.

 

            He shouldered his cloak, wrapping it tightly around himself, and began to pack the essentials in the semi-dark of the hut. His fingers lingered on the aged book, the only thing besides the dagger that had survived his trek across the countryside to this once-abandoned hut. He turned a few pages. The text was nearly impossible to translate; he’d had to run each individual line through four different dialects of progressively older Trollish in order to get it halfway coherent, and the meaning still frequently eluded him. He’d found it in the wreckage of a sorcerer’s house, and something about it had made him pick it up. _No,_ he realized, _not something_. Magic again. Baba Yaga was clearly still watching and appraising him, nudging his actions with arcane suggestion.

 

            “What am I supposed to do with this?” He snarled at the windows. “I can barely read it, let alone use it!”

 

            The wind simply moaned outside, giving no coherent answer. He resignedly tucked the book into his pack and slung the small load across his back. He picked up his forked walking stick, set his shoulders and his teeth, and stepped into the shifting wild of the bitter, uncertain tundra.


	2. Cold-Forged

Wind-bent, ice-crowned pines gave way to tall, gnarled trees that stretched towards the sky like mighty monuments, their pale bark glowing softly in the moonlight. The snow fields had thinned a little, but the increased heat farther south had softened the snow, turning it from a frozen rock-hard surface to a treacherous mire of uneven drifts that left him floundering and cursing. Struggling through the snow left him weary, hungry, and vulnerable to predators prowling the night. He hadn't been attacked yet, but it was only a matter of time before the denizens of the frozen north scented his weakness.  
Exhaustion dragged at his feet, and he stumbled over a hidden branch beneath the snow. How long had he been walking? Days? Weeks? He couldn't retrace his steps; Gunmar's hordes had ransacked the land to the south, forcing him northwards again to escape detection. The path he'd taken had been forged by animals, also escaping the troll-hordes, taking him far, far around Gunmar's troops…and keeping him far, far away from civilization. Only recently had the animal signs trended southward, meaning it was finally safe to return to warmer climates.  
He mused on this. He'd slept little, making his home in the shadows of shallow caves where possible. The land he now traversed, however, was flat, with only the shadow of his spread cloak propped on sticks to protect him from the burning, deadly gaze of the sun. With no natural protection, he'd only stopped to hunt, taking whatever meat he could find raw out of necessity. No more convenient abandoned locations he could shelter in, as he had the hut in the far north, presented themselves, even after interminable hiking. Building a fire would do far more towards putting him in danger from various predators, beast and trollkind alike, than protecting him from danger. He clutched at his staff and kept moving, leaning heavily on the gnarled wood. Lying down in the snow meant death, either from predators or the cold. So he kept moving, doggedly, painstakingly, but with ever-draining resolve. He had to stop and rest.  
He stumbled again, found himself face-first in the snow before he could regain his balance. Wearily, he picked himself up and brushed off the cold, wet clods of snow clinging to his front. He blinked heavy eyelids; the forest seemed to swim before his eyes, and he swayed on numb legs. He tottered forward a few steps, collapsed, and tried to rise. His arms wouldn't obey his command to lift him from the snow, however, though he struggled to lever himself upright. Resigned, he rested his head in the feather-soft snow; it conformed to his heavy body, supporting his weight much better than any mattress he remembered. This is how I die, he thought distantly. I will fall asleep in the snow; the sun will rise, and it will be over. He turned the thought over and over in his head, but he wasn't bothered by it. I can't go on like this. He closed his eyes, just for a moment…  
And opened them to find himself facedown on familiar, foreboding rocky shores, in front of a great cave that yawned open, its inside as black as a starless night. He glanced up at the cave, registered it, and laid his head back down on the stone, exhaustion pinning him in place. The wet, cold rock smelled of salt and dug into his cheekbone, but he barely noticed.  
"Why do you sleep, hunter? You have work ahead of you," a familiar voice crooned.  
"I can't do this," he mumbled to the stone, his eyes closed. "I have to rest."  
Baba Yaga cackled, the sound mocking. "Ah, the weaknesses of mortal flesh. Such a difficult thing to deal with."  
"Then…take it from me. If it makes me weak, take it," he pleaded.  
"Oh, but to do that would soften you. The ability to perceive danger to you keeps you alert and fearful. Without it, you become like Gunmar's horde: lazy, careless, slow. No, my little assassin; for now, you remain as you are."  
He closed his eyes again, inevitability washing over him.  
"But perhaps I can give you this," Argante mused at length. Her fingers touched his shoulder, the contact colder than the wet stone beneath him, cold as death. But her touch sparked heat within him right where he felt his soul should be, a fire that built and spread into a blazing warmth, chasing the cold, the weariness from his limbs. He opened his eyes and found himself once more facedown in the snow, but instead of cold, he felt warm, almost burning with heat. He picked himself up and realized he was not alone.  
Many yellow eyes peered at him between the trees, the animals' white-grey coats blending with the silvery moon-shadows on the snow. He counted six wolves in total; they had encircled him while he lay prone, but they hesitated to attack just yet, studying him. He snatched his staff from the snow and unsheathed his dagger, tensing. The creatures pinned their ears back, baring their teeth in an audible snarl at this sudden movement. For a moment more, predator and prey were frozen, watching each other.  
The first wolf flung itself at him, jumping at his throat. He ducked, and it collided with its brother with a yelp. Another made a jump at him; he struck out with his staff, catching the beast in its gut. It, too, went down with a pained yelp. A third wolf charged him; he rolled forward under the animal as it flew at him, stabbing out at the one that had simultaneously leapt at his back. The beast shrieked in pain as the dagger hit flesh, embedding with a soft thump. It scrambled away, snarling and limping, taking his dagger with it. He realized in a split second of terror that he could not hold off all five animals with just his staff. A second later, he was flat on his back in the snow, pressing his walking stick into the wolf's throat to keep it off him, the animal's teeth so close to his living stone he could feel its breath on his neck.  
He threw the beast off him, snarling as teeth pierced his arm. He struck out at it with his staff, and the creature fell away yelping, its fur smoldering. Fire? Bewildered but unable to take his mind off the fight, he roared at the wolves. They skittered back, still snarling, and he leapt to his feet, gripping his staff at the ready. Purple, smoking light danced across his arm like fire, but it did not burn him or his staff. Magic.   
One of the wolves inched closer; he whirled on it, the magic nudging him to thrust out a hand. A purple-and-black fireball exploded from his outstretched palm and hit the animal dead center, flinging it across the snow. It howled in pain and floundered in the snow, trying to extinguish its burning fur. Twice more the wolf-pack repeated their advances, and twice more he deterred them with arcane fire before they lost interest and ran away through the forest, yelping and smoking. He watched them go, then dropped his gaze to study the violet flames. They flickered along his arms a moment more, then dispersed, leaving both his furs and his staff unharmed.  
He took a moment to steady himself, breathing in the smoke-and-blood scents of post-battle. A faint whimpering caught his attention, and he focused on the noise. The wolf he'd stabbed was lying just outside the battle-scarred snow at the base of a tree, staining the drift around it red. He approached warily. It struggled to get up, pinning it ears back and snarling. Each movement the wolf made caused the dagger to twist a little, exacerbating the damage. He knew it wasn't going anywhere; its abdominally-located vitals had been torn apart by the dagger. At this point, it was only a matter of time.  
He crouched, careful to stay out of range of its teeth, and looked into its eyes. Though it had merely simple animal emotions, he could tell it was suffering. It was angry, it was hungry, it was in pain, but above all, it was afraid. It recognized him as a predator, and without the protection of its pack, it was nothing more than a meal for another animal. He had the option of just taking his dagger, but he couldn't leave it like this. Like all hunters in his tribe, had a duty to the suffering animal to finish what he'd started.  
"Well fought, brother," he murmured, removing the dagger with a swift jerk and bringing it down in a fatal stroke. The animal went limp, life fleeing its body, its suffering ended.  
"And may your soul find rest." He finished the hunter's eulogy and ran his fingers once through the blood-stained hair, then stood. He stepped away from the body, giving it a final glance. To think I would envy the dead.  
He let out a weary sigh and took his first steps southwards, away from the battle. Soon he would be hunting far more dangerous game…


	3. Trades Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which the terms of the Faustian Bargain become a little clearer and a possible rival is introduced...

The cool, damp breeze shifted the changing leaves, sending the rain slanting across the mouth of the shallow cave. Angor glowered at the cloudy skies; it almost felt too cold to rain, and each night the plummeting temperatures spun icy filigree along the edges of the puddles. He could survive much more easily here than in the bitter north, but it still wasn’t a pleasant ordeal without the protection of underground tunnels or other structures.   
He’d been squatting in this empty cave for the past few days, recovering after his grueling, almost-lethal trek through the far north. This land had plenty of waterfowl to hunt, but even the taste of roasted meat had a limited impact in improving his mood. Baba Yaga had not bothered him during his reprieve, but it was only a matter of time before she intervened again and spurred him after the Trollhunter. He supposed he owed her double now, once for the errant magic that flared and retreated at uncontrollable intervals and again for her intervention during his near-death experience. He snorted. The idea of owing her for anything felt obscene to him; he’d only asked for one of the two favors, and he couldn’t even control that.   
He scowled, focusing on his anger. Sometimes the magic manifested when he did this, if he was lucky. Today, apparently, was a lucky day, because violet fire began to flicker along his arms, the flames much smaller than their initial appearance. He thrust out a hand experimentally, as he had done in his fight against the wolves. His palm smoked like a sputtering candle, but nothing else happened. He growled and cast a glare at his cooking-fire, crackling merrily. Was she watching from the flames?   
The fire hissed and stuttered, as though amused by his withering stare.   
“I know you’re watching,” he snapped at the burning logs.   
The fire did not respond, and it took him a second to realize what he was doing. He gave his head a shake and let his gaze wander aimlessly over the shadows cast by the flickering flames. He was getting paranoid. She couldn’t be watching him all the time.   
I am always watching, little hunter, a voice purred.   
He sat bolt upright.   
It is one of the powers your soul-ring, the Inferna Copula, gives me.   
He snarled in disgust. “I came to you, sacrificed myself, for my people. And for what? Magic I cannot control and intervention I did not ask for?”  
Something invisible struck him across the face like a fist-sized rock, snapping his head to one side. Do not forget your position, fool. I am far more powerful than you will ever hope to be.   
He rotated his jaw, blinking back stars. He had no idea she was capable of punishing him like that. “If I am so weak, why keep me at all?” he challenged. “Why not let me die in that forest?”  
Cold, soft, laughter filled the cave and his ears, chilling him more effectively than the frigid rain. Did you forget you were bound to me, hunter? Letting you die would be a waste of a servant.   
He shuddered, horror clawing at him. How binding was this contract?   
Fear not, Argante told him softly. A gust of wind brushed his face like a soothing touch, cold but gentle. As you prove yourself, I will grant you greater freedoms.  
“When will you return my soul? There is a void…” He put a hand to his chest. Void was not the right word. It felt more like he’d been hollowed out, as if a thin layer living stone was the only thing left of him, as if even that might shatter at the slightest breeze into nothing.   
When I am satisfied, she responded simply.   
He glowered at the flames.  
Come, come, little hunter, she crooned. Be not dour about your contract. In time you will learn to enjoy the hunt.  
He glanced at the fire moodily, doubt dampening this twisted promise. Only a monster enjoyed hunting one’s own kind.   
“Be that as it may,” he responded. “Your magic still does not obey me.”  
You are yet new to magic. As you grow more experienced, it will obey. There is one nearby who might help you. Tonight, you will go and begin your studies in the arcane.   
He eyed the rain and the ever-darkening sky gloomily. He didn’t think it would let up by nightfall, and he did not relish the thought of walking in this rain. But if he did not go, he knew that Argante would not leave him alone.  
He got to his feet, collected his staff, and made sure his book was protected against the rain, then stood just inside the cave entrance, waiting for the gray daylight to fade.   
******************  
A sharp knock on her door spurred Lybran to her feet. Sure, it might be night, but the night was still very young and the weather was poor, so she hadn’t thought anyone would be out and about yet.   
The individual knocked again, pounding more insistently. She snatched a candle from the table and ran to the door, opening it cautiously. Captain Kaius and a small group of other guards clustered around her door, and in their midst stood another troll, draped in a heavy white fur that looked totally soaked. His slim, athletic body belied youth, but the cracks around his eyes and the deep scarring in his stone told her he was far older than he first appeared. Kaius clutched a gaggletack by his side, eyeing the stranger with suspicion as he spoke.  
“M’Lady, we found this intruder wandering up the main road. No one claims to recognize him, so we figured he might be a changeling spy.”  
She peered at the stranger suspiciously, studying him. He peered back, and she got the oddest impression he was studying her.   
“These are his.” Kaius tucked the magic item back into his belt and produced a walking stick and a bone-handled knife, sheathed in dark leather. The stranger scowled at the captain, his golden eyes narrowing to slits. He might be cooperating for now, but he was not happy about it. She put her candle down and took the weapons.  
“Well, you tested him already. He has not changed, Kaius?” She asked.  
“No, M’Lady.”  
“Let him go, then.”  
“You aren’t concerned about him?” Kaius gave the stranger another suspicious look.  
“I can defend myself, thank you, Kaius,” she told him briskly. “If you are concerned, you may linger. I will call you if I require assistance.”  
Kaius looked like he was about to argue, but then decided against it, loping off into the rain and taking the other guards with him. The stranger remained standing on her doorstep, his gold eyes still penetrating her, even as she handed him his weapons back.  
“I need help.” The stranger spoke for the first time, his avian-sharp gaze piercing her. He had a deep voice like splintering gravel, his accent indicating he came from somewhere distant, but again, she could not determine where.   
She paused on her doorstep, her jaw tightening. “Oh?” A lot of trolls that came her way needed help, but she could not help them all. “And what is it you need?”  
“I came here searching for a magician. Where might I find one?”  
She started at this. “I am she,” she ventured. “Do you need a book? A spell?”  
He looked her up and down, but his unreadable expression did not change. “Neither,” responded the other. “I need training.”  
She hesitated, then stepped aside. “Come in.”   
He stepped inside, trailing water from his dripping cloak, and hung the sodden fur from her coat rack, revealing a small pack that looked like it could barely carry anything at all. It bulged from the mass of objects inside, the corner of a book peeking out of the pack’s flap. She closed the door and made to pick up her candle, but it had gone out.   
“Sit,” she said, indicating the worn chairs at the table. The stranger sat, looking about. None of his previous tension had left his body.  
“Before I do anything for you, you need to tell me who you are and why you’re here.”  
The stranger’s eyes narrowed again, but he began his story.


	4. Trades Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the chieftain begins to learn about her guest and in which Angor finds himself bound by yet another contract...

**************

            As he expected, the guards found and stopped him minutes after entering the small town. They had searched him for weapons (fortunately not disturbing the pack on his back, concealed as it was by his cloak) and subjected him to a gaggletack. When he did not change, they took him up the mountain under spear-point.

            It was no less than what he would have done to a stranger in his village under the current circumstances. But it was nevertheless infuriating; their meddling slowed him down. His sole purpose was to find the person he was looking for, get what he needed, and leave, not stand in front of some tribunal or other and explain what he was doing.

            They did not lead him to a prison or before a bench of scowling judges, however, but to a cross between a cave and a cabin, dug into the hillside. A female troll answered the guard’s knock, and by the way he kept addressing the woman as M’Lady, she must have some authority, a very difficult position for a woman to get. He appraised her as she spoke with the guard.

Average in stature and build, he nevertheless would have thought her pretty had he been much younger. Her black hair had been simply but neatly tied back between slate-colored horns, her jade skin mostly covered by leather armor. Her posture radiated authority; she drew herself up, making herself appear tall, and her stance spread wide, as though stabilizing her center of gravity for a fight.

            The guard handed her his dagger and staff. He analyzed the guard, noting the female’s use of the guard’s name: Kaius. He filed the information away for later while the female questioned Kaius, asking something about changelings. The guard seemed to answer deferentially, and she dismissed the guards moments later. She handed him his weapons back; he nestled the hunting knife safely at his side once more, missing its weight. He told her what he was looking for upon her request, and she introduced herself as the sorcerer he was searching for.

            He appraised her again. She did not look like a sorcerer; her regalia befitted a warrior as opposed to a wizard of any type, but she’d probably had to adapt. He wouldn’t be surprised; based on what he’d seen, she also seemed to be this troll tribe’s leader, and in this age of war, they’d all had to adapt. She invited him inside to talk, and he took the invitation, removing his sodden cloak with a sense of relief.

            He glanced around, locating all points of exit. The cave itself was rather large, arranged not unlike the abandoned hut in the tundra, with the hearth to the forefront, the table in the middle of the room, and a curtained area he presumed to be her sleeping quarters to the back. Bookshelves illuminated by strange hexagonal lamps were scattered along the walls, their leather spines etched with mystic symbols. Various weapons hung or sat propped above and against the shelves, respectively; a crossbow, a mace, a sword, a pike, an axe, all well-cared for. She clearly knew how to defend herself.

            She bade him sit and demanded an explanation from him. He willingly told her the story he’d rehearsed, his gaze still roaming the room and books behind her. She drank in his words, studying him with dark, intense eyes.

            “I’ve heard your story many times,” she said as he concluded. “Gunmar’s war has ravaged many villages. A lot of people come here looking for help. But this is the first time, to my knowledge, that I have been approached by a fellow sorcerer seeking assistance.”

            “My abilities are still…immature,” he growled with distaste. “I need help controlling the magic if I want to help my people. Are you skilled enough to…teach me?” He coughed out the final two words. A troll his age shouldn’t need to be taught by anyone.

            She eyed him. “If you are willing to help me in return. My people are preparing for battle should Gunmar’s horde ever find us here. But that means we don’t have a lot of time to hunt. I notice you carry a hunter’s dagger. Help me feed my people, and I will teach you. Do we have an accord?”

            He clenched his teeth and made himself shake the hand that the female extended, sealing the deal. He withdrew quickly, feeling sullied by the contract.

            “You’re uncomfortable,” she noted.

            _Say nothing of me_ , Argante hissed in his head.

            “I do not seek help lightly,” he responded.

            “I understand. Hold up your part of the deal, and I will hold up mine.”

            He grunted, but gave her a short nod. She watched him still.

            “I noticed you are interested in my books.”

            “It is curious that a small village would own such a large collection,” he said, picking his words carefully.

            “Along with being a leader and the tribe’s sorcerer, I serve as a curator of sorts for much of the tribe’s history and knowledge. Lately I have been trading for spellbooks as an attempt to expand on my knowledge.”

            “Do you study both kinds of magic?” He asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

            She shot him a sharp look. “Dark magic is forbidden.”

            “I do not deny that, but knowing something is the key to its undoing. Gunmar wields a mighty sword that corrupts the minds of those touched by its magic. Many of my people were subjected to its power, and I seek a counterspell to his evil.”

            Her face softened. “Ah. Then I pity your people, my friend.”

            He leaned forward, splaying his hands on the rough table. “Pity is for the families of the dead. If you care, help them.”

            “Very well. You may have access to my books, but be careful; there are books here I do not dare read. I do not know where they come from or what spells they have been bound with, but,” she ran her fingers through the air, “they darken this place with their magic. I keep them to safeguard them from the enemy and no other reason.” She got up and picked a book off the shelf. “Here. This is as good a place as any for your education to start.”

            He opened the book, flipped a few pages, and scowled at her. “This?” He indicated the guide of rocks, plants, and animals.

            “Yes. Many minerals, flora, and fauna can be utilized in different ways in magic. This is your basic guide to-“

            _This information is of little use to you,_ Baba Yaga hissed inside his head, drowning out the chieftain’ s words _. Look to forbidden knowledge for true power._

The ringing voice apparently only he could hear faded from his head, and he realized he was staring at the book without reading, the page detailing the flying pests known as pixies. He knew enough about pixies; the hallucinations they caused sometimes sent trolls tumbling to their deaths if the host did not know how to get rid of them. But this book had more than just that. _This creature can be summoned with a simple incantation and is an effective tool for misguidance and distraction if used properly._

“Hmm. Interesting place to start,” the chieftain remarked, peering over the book. “You know, they once stopped a war on their own. The defenders released clouds of these creatures, and the enemy was trapped in battle, hallucinating until the sun came up.”

            He glanced around at some of the “lamps” and realized they were actually jars full of bouncing balls of light.

            “You think you can trick Gunmar into leaving you alone with this…distraction?” He gestured to one of the pixie-lamps. “He has encountered pixies before. He will know how to counter them, and he will slaughter you.”

            “Which is precisely why they are the _first_ line of defense. We have other plans, you know,” the she-troll quipped.

            “You have no idea what Gunmar is capable of.”

            She brought a fist down on the table, her eyes suddenly full of fury. “You think I don’t know that? Every refugee that comes over those mountains says the same, warning me of the danger that’s coming. What am I supposed to do? My people have been here for centuries!” She jabbed a finger at her door. “Do you think they’re just going to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice, like you did?”

            Angor jumped to his feet, his fingers curling around the handle of his knife. “Do not _dare,_ ” he snarled, baring his fangs, “presume to know what it’s like to face the Skullcrusher. You don’t know the devastation he will bring.”

            She glared fiercely at him, but he did not so much as blink. Her furious gaze was but a pale imitation of Gunmar’s or Argante’s rage.

            “You’re right,” she said, turning away from him after a long moment. She studied one of the pixie-cage lamps. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I cannot simply tell my people to abandon what they’ve built here.”

“You do not want to face Gunmar’s hordes. You have no chance of success against him.”

“As much as I appreciate the counsel,” she said, biting the words off, “I will make that decision on my own.”

Silence fell between them. His fingers slid from the handle of his knife, and he sat, returning his gaze to the field guide. He only then noticed his hands were smoldering quietly, but they stopped as he noticed.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

He looked up, confused. She was smiling again, if a bit stiffly.

“First rule of magic; learn precise control of your emotions. With practice it becomes easier, but intense emotions can trigger manifestations, which is dangerous. Once you learn to control them, you can begin harnessing your emotions to fuel your power. But we’ll leave that for a later lesson.” She crossed her arms and peered at him. “I don’t believe I know your name yet.”

“Angor Rot,” he replied drily.

“Well met. I’m Lybran. Chief Lybran, that is.”

He grunted noncommittally and flipped a few pages in the book, glancing over various descriptions with minimal interest. Lybran dropped another book on the table.

“To help you with the translations,” she said. “Magic is a language all its own, and its runes hold unique capabilities. Learn to read the runes, and you can do things you’ll never guess yourself capable of. Within your ability, of course,” she added, the corner of her mouth lifting.

He thanked her gruffly and turned his attention to the rune book, thumbing through it. One of the runes caught his attention; a particularly spiky one that, according to the book, meant “shadow” or “darkness”. The book currently tucked in his pack had the same symbol inscribed onto the worn cover and inked over and over and over again onto the crackling pages. This she-troll did not like dark magic, and he was in possession of a book that apparently taught the reader just that.

Under no circumstances, he decided, could he let her find it.

“By the way, you’re on hunting duty tomorrow,” she said, a little smirk crossing her mouth. He nodded. A productive hunt would take his mind off this recent development, though in the back of his head he knew that she could never find out.

_Tread carefully, little hunter, or the hunter will become the hunted._


	5. Forbidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angor tests the boundaries of his alliance and begins to realize the burden his magic entails.

The striped fletching tickled Angor’s cheek as he drew the arrow back, the borrowed yew bow creaking faintly under his fingers. He sighted along the shaft, carefully adjusting for the wind as he picked out a fat doe grazing placidly at the edge of the herd. The wind rustled fading leaves, sending their animal-hair scent his way. He inhaled, a pleased smile curling his mouth. He could already taste venison.

He released the arrow, sending it hissing into the darkness. The doe fell soundlessly, kicked twice, and was still, its heart pierced by the arrowhead. The herd reacted drunkenly at first, scrambling awkwardly to their long, thin legs as the scent of blood hit them. A second arrow followed his first, neatly piercing another deer’s ribcage as the herd scattered, bounding for the cover of the thick tree trunks and calling to each other in panic. A third arrow whizzed towards the animals, striking a buck in the hindquarters. The injured animal stumbled and fell, the otherwise peaceful night split with the sound of its distress. The wounded animal flailed on the ground, tossing its sharp rack of antlers and kicking out with its hooves. He dispatched it with a fourth arrow and approached to retrieve the projectiles.

The bushes behind him rustled, Kaius’ bulky form parting the scraggly branches in a snapping of twigs.

“It’s a wonder your tribe hasn’t starved with your hunting skills,” Angor remarked, yanking the arrow out of the buck and tossing it to the bulky guard.

Kaius bared his teeth, almost snapping the shaft between his thick fingers. “Don’t mistake the chieftain’s favor for my approval, outsider,” he growled as Angor pulled his arrow from his deer’s sternum. “It tends to throw your aim off when you don’t know if your _hunting partner’s_ arrow will wind up in your back.”

“A proper hunter does not make excuses,” Angor growled back, hoisting both his carcasses over his shoulders. “He gets results.”

Kaius snarled, infuriated, but picked up his deer. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked through the dawn-lit forest, checking the traps set by the previous hunting party. Angor watched his guard fumble with tying a couple of dead quails together. As Kaius did not know how to adjust for the wind, neither did he know his knots, another necessary bit of information for any hunter. Clearly the hulking brute had been picked just so the she-troll could keep an eye on him. Angor supposed Lybran had her reasons; Kaius may not be very skilled in the art of the hunt, but he wasn’t stupid either.

He’d made Angor take point on the hunt, and Angor had noted that the troll had watched his every move. Moreover, Kaius had questioned his judgement over and over again as they tracked their game. Angor wondered if Kaius had done so to test his knowledge of hunting or to try to provoke him. His mouth twisted in a snarl; if the guard intended the latter, he’d come close, dangerously close. He glanced at Kaius and the axe across his back for the hundredth time that night, studying the troll. If the guard came after him with that axe..

_I see you are considering your opponent,_ Baba Yaga purred inside his head. _Clever hunter._

He gave his head a shake. _Get out of my head!_ He thought savagely.

_But it is only obvious,_ the witch responded, her voice teasing. _You have been watching him all night like he is prey. Tell me, hunter; is hunting your own kind so different?_

_Yes,_ he responded silently. _Animals do not think like we do._

Kaius straightened and glanced at him, slinging the brace of dead birds over his broad shoulder.

_Do you really believe that?_ Argante crooned, her voice fading, echoing inside his head.

“Let’s go, before the sun rises,” the guard captain said shortly.

Angor followed with a hunter’s silent step, still appraising the larger troll, still turning the question over in his head. To hunt a fellow troll would employ the same skills he used while hunting game; learning their patterns, studying their defensive capabilities, discovering their weaknesses and soft spots. Being the same species as his prey only gave him an incontrovertible edge. He could slip in close without suspicion, opening up easier ways of killing his prey; a dagger in the back while the target was asleep, poison in their food or drink, a deliberate “accident”.

But the horror of murdering other trolls just because he had orders to sickened him. He hunted because he had to and killed in self-defense only when the enemy was bent on his destruction. _And yet…_ The hollowness inside him nagged, gnawing at his mind. The deal would follow him until he fulfilled it or died trying; Lady Pale’s palpable influence, even though her corporeal form resided miles and miles away, was proof of that. If he could just get it over with, perhaps She would release him from his binding contract.

He followed Kaius up the village’s muddy central road, watched by the few trolls still out and about at this hour of the morning. They peered owlishly at the two huntstrolls from over mugs of grog and dice games he couldn’t make out the rules of. The guard captain demanded Angor’s kills, as well as the borrowed bow and arrows, and he gave it over with a condescending sneer. It was that or spend more time than necessary with the troll. He wanted to get on with leaning what he’d come all the way here for so he could find his people.

Dawn sunlight peeked over the horizon by the time he reached the isolated cabin, illuminating the spiky, sparse grass that grew along the road and casting the first pale shadows of the trees across the wooden door. He entered without knocking; the smell of animal blood would both give away his presence and identify him. His magic tutor sat at the table in front of the hearth, reading.

“The mighty hunter returns,” she said sardonically, not looking up. “How many did you get?”

“I hunt best _alone_ ,” he said, his voice dipping into dangerous registers. “Why did you not tell me I would be hunting with a partner?”

She looked up, her face tight. “I don’t like to deceive you, but as chieftain I have a duty to protect my people. I barely know you, and I don’t entirely trust you.”

He growled. “Your mistrust almost cost you. Your guard is no hunter.”

“Which is why I need you,” she said. “Most of my hunters disappeared into the mountains and have not come back, leaving only the warriors and the craftsmen. Our warriors must prepare for battle, and though they are learning to be hunters, they are not yet skilled enough to completely sustain our village, occupied as they are with battle preparations.”

“Training your guards to hunt was not part of the agreement, and his intrusive presence delayed me. I could have returned far earlier had it not been for him,” he retorted from between clenched teeth, fury boiling in his gut.

“Having you here is an asset I can’t aff-“

_Asset?_ He yanked his hunting knife from its sheath and rammed it into the tabletop. She jumped up.

            “I am _not_ a tool, and I will not be treated like one!” He snarled. “We made a fair trade; my hunting skills for your magic lessons. You have yet to teach me anything at all.”

            She folded one arm across her chest and gestured to her books. “Then get busy.” She turned away. He snatched the knife from the table and threw it, sending the blade tearing through the air dangerously close to her face. It stuck in the wall, quivering. She whirled, her eyes narrowed, her fists clenched and sparking with blue-white magic.

            “I _did not_ ,” he hissed, his chest heaving in fury, “make this deal simply so I could read your books.”

            “I cannot teach you in this state,” she responded, drawing herself up. “Your magic would be too volatile. Come back tomorrow evening.”

            She swept the curtain aside and disappeared behind it, clearly ending the conversation. He stood there for a long moment, wondering if he should pursue her, his sharp nails gouging his palms.

_Let it go, my hunter,_ a voice crooned. _You will have your chance._

He strode to the far wall and retrieved his dagger, sheathing it again. _What did I come here for?_ _What is my_ purpose _for being here?_ He glanced back at the curtain.

_She can teach you but the basics,_ Lady Pale told him. _Much of these magical arts she does not study. You will have to learn on your own and apply what she teaches you._

_The forbidden books,_ he realized. He approached the shelves to study the spines. _But she will find out. She is far more competent at magic than I; I would not succeed were I to fight her._

Baba Yaga cackled in his head. _Do not be so sure, my hunter. You are a fast learner._

_****************************************************************_

**A/N: I know, I know. You all want to see Angor stalk/murder some trolls. It's coming, I promise.**

**The reason he has this formative period in arcane teaching at all is that it seems most magical things in trolldom require some element of training to be able to control. Both the Amulet and the Skathe-Hrun are proof of this.**

**So he has to learn magic before he can fully use it, though I wouldn't be too concerned about me dragging this training out. Angor _is_ a fast learner...**

 

**Author's Note:**

> More coming very soon!  
> Fun fact: The title is the light-extinguishing counter-spell to Lumos from Harry Potter. Seemed appropriate.  
> Hope you enjoyed it. I will try to get this caught up as soon as I can.  
> Cheers,  
> SheegothBait


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